


A Working Alliance

by Nyaore



Category: The Hobbit (2012), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, But assume that pretty much everyone in the Company will make an appearance, Gandalf is a wordy bastard who refuses to get to the point, M/M, Or really cares about whether or not he's inconveniencing you for that matter, Politics, Slow Build, Will add more characters and pairings as they come up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-28
Updated: 2013-02-06
Packaged: 2017-11-27 06:09:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/658786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyaore/pseuds/Nyaore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The dwarves of the Blue Mountains and the Hobbits of the Shire, are both in dire straights. The recent years have not been kind either, and just when both sides feel as if there is no where to turn and alliance is proposed to handle their individual difficulties. Representatives are sent, and the papers are drawn up, and yet how will these two different cultures handle their new dealings with each other? Particularly when there are outside forces stirring about that want nothing more than for each side to fail?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally a prompt I posted on the Kink Meme under the name LDegnan. After sitting on it for a few days and trying to allow other people to pick it up first, if they were so inclined, I decided to take the bull by the proverbial horns and fill it myself. I'll be posting the story concurrently on that prompt, which I will post in a link to at the bottom, here on AO3, and on my monkier on FF.net which is Crimson Rogue.
> 
> This is my first foray into the world of J.R.R. Tolkien, so please be gentle. But not 'too' gentle, if you please. I know my writing needs improvement, and I'm bound to screw up the lore as I go along in spite of myself, so critiques are much loved. If you see something wrong, don't hesitate to tell me. I can't promise I'll change it, as it might have been intentional, but I'll be forever grateful that you took the time to tell me in the first place. This is going to be a mixture of both the Book and Movie verse, at least until the start where it diverges into an AU, with liberal bits of personal head canon. We'll see how this works out, chances are it'll end up a sloppy mess.
> 
> Where I posted the original prompt: http://hobbit-kink.livejournal.com/3393.html?thread=6420033#t6420033  
> You'll noticed I fiddled with it a bit, simply because the original prompt didn't make much sense when you considered the lore and the distance between the settlement in Ered Luin, which many sources point to being in the Northern half of the mountain range, and the Shire. Particularly when you apply this fan-map that has a nifty little Leagues bar at the bottom, to help judge distance. (http://www.lords-of-blah.nl/mearth/mearthmap.html) It's about 70-80 leagues, which are around 3.45 miles each. So yeah, not something that is conducive to day trips.
> 
> P.S. If someone would be willing to Beta I'd love them forever and ever. *clings* 8D

"How bad is it, Balin?" Thorin inhaled slowly through his nose as he slowly rubbed his aching temples, hoping to dispel the makings of a growing migraine before it could run away with his senses. The table before him was overrun with various maps, statistical worksheets, books, and various other paraphernalia that was slowly merging together into one jumbled mess with each hour spent within the confines of the conference hall. But then that was nothing compared to the state of the rest of the room, which was inundated with near mountainous stacks of various books and scrolls, as well as many pilfered chairs from other places within his halls.

The older dwarf involuntarily allowed his posture to slump slightly from his position on the other side of the table, his thick grey brows drawing down in a rare admission of defeat, "if we do not find another vein of ore soon, sire, then I'm afraid that we're going to have to empty the last of our coffers in order to even have a chance of making it through the winter."

A sharp sigh was the only reply Thorin was willing to give at this point. He had thought as much. The scholars he had set to the task were rarely wrong with their predictions, and if Balin had been convinced of how dire the situation had become then there was little he could do but accept it as the truth.

Most people assumed that ruling a kingdom would be a glamorous affair, with endless balls and feasting whenever one deigned to allow such things. They gave little thought to the economic side of things, or just how much effort it really took to keep a country and it's citizenry stable and content. Which was further complicated in their case by the destitute nature of Durin's Folk during these past years. None of which had been kind to them ever since that fateful day when Erebor was snatched from their clutches and they were forced into a temporary nomadic lifestyle. It had taken nearly everything both he and his father Thráin, had had to give in order to establish a semi-prosperous colony along the banks of the Little Lune river, at the very feet of the Northern Blue Mountains. However, instances like this only served to sharply remind them that their efforts might never be enough.

Unlike in Erebor, where the veins of ore and gems shot off in every imaginable direction for what seemed like endless leagues, ripe for the harvesting, the Blue Mountains guarded it's secret hoards with an almost unnatural dedication. Just when they felt they had finally tapped into a proper vein that might be harvested for years to come, it would all but dried up scant weeks later. What was worse, is that what few proper veins they did manage to unearth were of poor quality. Little good for anything other than scrap metal or substandard work that inevitably would fail in spite of the best craftsmanship his race had to offer. It was both humbling, and infuriating, to one who had spent the first few decades of his life living in the easy splendor of the Lonely Mountain. They had only just barely managed to eek out a somewhat stable existence with what meager finds the mountains were willing to allow them, and while that might have been enough for the first hundred or so years of the colony's existence - it was fast becoming apparent that they would no longer be able to scrounge about and still maintain their growing population.

Their limited prosperity, which nothing to brag about in the shadow of all they had been able to accomplish within Erebor's halls, had attracted a steady stream of refugees for years now - eager to make a home under the stable banners of these halls. It had taken decades for the problem to become apparent, with the slow reproduction rates of his people and the influx of refugees being rather manageable in some respects, however it was now obvious to all willing to look that the current rate of growth mixed with their meager output of ores and goods was unsustainable. Couple that with several harsher than normal winters, and failed mining ventures, and the situation had grown quite dire.

Thorin pinched the bridge of his nose in consternation. At this rate they would barely make it through the winter, never mind into the following year.

"Brother, as you know we are not alone in this pocket of Middle Earth. Surely we don't have to weather this all on our own," the slightly scratchy voice of his sister called from her position against a wall to Thorin's immediate left, flatly ignoring the sigh from Balin as he watched the siblings begin to dredge up a fairly familiar point of contention.

"And do I need to remind you, Dís," Thorin slid his eyes harshly clashing with the dark brown pair of his last remaining sibling, "what happens when one chooses to rely on the aid of Elves and Men? Or have you forgotten the lessons of Erebor in our long exile?"

At this, Dís let out an incredulous snort before shaking her tightly braided grey streaked, dirty-blonde beard, which was thickly plaited back until it was interwoven with a ponytail that reached her midsection, in consternation. "And need I remind you, dear brother, that it was our near isolation that has brought this down upon us. I could do without the Tree-Shaggers myself, but I refuse to allow adherence to old grudges to facilitate the downfall of our people! Not all Elves are like Thranduil!"

"And how do you know that it won't end up like it did before?" His voice now pitched low with rage at the mention of his hated enemy, "What proof can you give me that relying on them will improve the situation? They've already proven themselves untrustworthy during our greatest hour of need. Can you guarantee that they won't turn their backs on us yet again? I won't consign our people to such a fate a second time!"

The two siblings glared balefully at one another, neither willing to concede an inch in their longstanding spat. Balin, having heard this song and dance many a time in the past, had taken to cleaning up the mess that cluttered the table in the middle of the room. He knew from experience that to involve oneself in this argument was to invite the wrath of both siblings upon yourself. The few other dwarves in the hall looked distinctly uncomfortable in the wake of the wrath of their royalty.

"Then what would you have us do, brother? You know as well as I do that without aid many of our people will not make it through the following seasons, let alone the next year. Our granaries can only last so long as they currently stand, and we cannot risk ourselves to chance waiting for the miners to unlock another sliver of ore from the mountains. If not the Elves, then who would you be willing to negotiate with? You know as well as I do that we have precious few options." Dís allowed her gaze to soften slightly, while still keeping locked in her firmly defiant stance against the wall. For all her exasperation, she truly did not envy her brother and the position he had been forced to endure ever since their hasty departure from the halls of Erebor almost a hundred and sixty one years prior. The both of them were barely out of their swaddling clothes when Smaug had descended upon them, with Thorin barely in his mid-twenties and her only a scant ten years of age at the time. Neither had had time for a proper childhood in the wake of the disaster, and Thorin had been forced to shoulder the needs of his race in the face of their grandfather's growing madness and the disappearance of their father. She could not completely fault him for clinging as he did to old wounds, when they were one of the few stable aspects of his life.

"In that case, I believe I might a proposal that would interest you."

In an instant the hall was in an uproar, and for a moment all that could be heard were the sounds of blades sliding out of sheathes and axes being removed from clasps upon their wielders' belts. Both of the Durin's in attendance abandoning their spat in favor of taking defensive positions next to one another, each taking up stances that would compensate for any flaws in the other's guard with their war-axes at the ready in front of them. Neither allowing their surprise over the fact that a strange had managed to enter the room undetected show upon their faces.

For his part the wizened stranger simply leaned complacently on his large wooden staff, eyes twinkling in quiet amusement as he took in the number of blades pointed in his direction. His eyes briefly widened when they ghosted over royal siblings, lingering on them for a moment longer than the rest, but the action was gone so fast that one could have attributed it to a trick of the light instead.

"And who is it that dares breach the sanctity of this meeting? How did you get in here?" Thorin commanded, almost missing the odd look their intruder sent but filing it away all the same once it was registered.

"Gandalf is my name," his eyes twinkled as if remembering a private joke as his eyes locked back onto Thorin's form, "and Gandalf means me. Hail Thorin, son of Thráin, King under the mountains of Ered Luin." At this Gandalf inclined his head ever so slightly as recognition began to fill the room at the sound of his name. Still in spite of this fact, no blade was lowered, and no stance removed, as each dwarf in the hall waited for Thorin's judgment of the situation. "As for how I managed to arrive undetected, let's just say old men are entitled to their secrets and leave it at that shall we?"

Thorin grunted in annoyance before deciding to address the earlier line of dialogue, "and what sort of proposal would a Wizard be willing to offer us that we'd be willing to take?"

"Ah! Well that is the crux of the matter is it not? Why, I'd imagine that it would be up to you to decide whether or not the matter is worthy of your time, as it were." A smile broke about the Wizard's face at that, sending a meaningful glance at the various weapons around the room.

Thorin barely flinched a muscle, although he was loathe to allow the Wizard to devolve into dancing around the point as they were often known for doing. After a few tense moments he quietly looped his war-axe back into the leather clasps upon his belt buckle, slowly easing himself into a slightly more relaxed - though no less alert - posture. In response, the rest of the dwarves in the room followed suit, though some kept their hands upon their weapons even after returning them to their resting places, ready to jump to attention as soon as the order was given.

Smiling benignly the Wizard waited until every member of the room was well and truly settled before continuing, "I happen to have a matter that requires immediate attention, from what I was just able to bear witness too, you have your own concerns to deal with." He shifted his grip on his staff slightly at this. "If I am correct, we might be able to render aid unto one another - should the terms prove agreeable to both sides."

Sensing that her brother was slowly growing impatient with the Wizard's refusal to come out and state his business, Dís stepped slightly to the forefront, "and the matter that requires attention?"

"A dreadful business, but first I must ask, would you happen to have a chair for this old man? These ones you have here are all well and good for Dwarven legs, but I'm afraid that they would be quite uncomfortable for someone of my stature."

Thorin waved vaguely at the nearest guard to bring what the Wizard requested. They might not have many such chairs on stand-by, but there were a few in various storage rooms for when larger guests graced their halls.

Ten minutes later Gandalf was making sure he was well and truly comfortable, or as comfortable as one could be in a dusty old chair I suppose, before he spoke again, "might I ask how familiar you lot are with Hobbits?"

Dís blinked briefly at this, what an odd question to ask after making them wait for so long. Balin was the one to answer, "About as much as can be expected. Our caravans occasional venture into the borders of the Shire to ply their wares, though only those with more domestic leanings have had any measure of success. Due to this, and the several dozen leagues that separate our chosen areas, it's safe to say that we rarely come into contact with one another, unless one goes out of the way to rectify it."

Gandalf looked pensive for a moment before nodding, "so I take it that you're at least passingly aware of their mostly peaceful nature and lack of a proper militia then?"

"What does all this have to do with anything?"

"Everything!" the Wizard snapped, his face suddenly growing so thunderous that many of the room's other occupants couldn't help but flinch away. "For the past season Hobbits have been going missing along the borders of the Shire. At first it was only a few individuals, worrisome but otherwise deemed isolated incidents. Now, however, whole homesteads and smaller towns have been going missing in the dead of night, with not but burnt embers left in their wake. The Hobbits, with the lack of a military force are helpless against this growing threat, and few in the surrounding countryside of Bree-land are willing to do much more than twiddle their thumbs as they deal with their own rash of kidnappings."

"A shame to be sure," Thorin whispered, "but what do you wish for us to do about it? I cannot in good faith worry about a matter so many leagues away, when the mountains have their own troubles to deal with here."

"You haven't been listening have you?" Gandalf fussed for a moment before tapping the end of his staff forcefully into the ground, "it's a matter of mutual aid. You are in need of food and a possible alliance to help last through the coming winter and beyond, you have a wealth of trained warriors with nowhere to go and no jobs to do until the next vein of ore is found to line your dwindling coffers. Likewise, the Hobbits are in dire need of lasting protection to face whatever stalks them after dark and beyond, someone who would be willing to keep their borders safe from all who might threaten them. They in turn have a surplus of food, and excess land that might be traded to various agriculturally minded individuals in your employ, to ensure that such protection is secured. An alliance, if you will, is what I am talking about. One that has the potential to benefit both sides greatly."

Thorin barely managed to keep himself from retorting over the possible pitfalls of such a deal, the sharp elbow his sister sent into his gut somewhat aiding in that endeavor. Dís glared harshly at her brother, daring him to utter a single word that might jeopardize something that might solve their food problems in one fell swoop. Still, the thought that something foul might be afoot, and that things were simply too good to be true refused to leave him. They clung harshly to his gut as he bit out the next words, still mindful of his sister and her inclinations towards bodily harm to get her way, "and that's it? We agree and the matter is immediately settled? You expect me to send soldiers out against an unknown foe for a people we've had only the barest contact with?"

A shake of the head was his reply, along with "of course there would have to be negotiations of exactly what land will be given and the amount of food, as well as the soldiers you'd have to dedicate to patrolling the borders. I also don't expect you to agree immediately until all the issues have been ironed out, though expediency would be greatly appreciated by all side's I'd imagine. What could it hurt to attend a summit to discuss the matter with those in the Shire and see for yourself whether or not this is an avenue worth pursuing?"

"... When would this summit take place?"

"In two weeks time, which," he held up his hand to forestall the budding outburst that surely would follow such an absurd time table, "you should be able to make if you leave within the next day and take to riding your fastest horses for long intervals. Surely you understand the need for haste in this matter? Neither you or the Hobbits can wait longer than that to settle upon this matter, particularly if your dealings turn south and both sides must look elsewhere for aid."

The feeling of unease and discomfort grew ever so slightly, but Thorin couldn't help but admit that he was somewhat trapped. His people needed food to survive for the foreseeable future, and the promise of trade and even potential land was too good to pass up at that moment. Besides, what little he did know of Hobbits painted them to be a gentle and fair folk, quite unlike the unscrupulous Men and betrayers that populated the Elven nations. The chances of reaching a mutually beneficial deal were far greater with them, if the stories of the Hobbit's were to be believed, than in any other place but with his own kin. What he would give to be able to ask one of said kin for the aid, but by the time a messenger would make it to the Iron Hills and back it would be far too late at the rate things were going.

It rankled, but the situation sadly called for swift action in this case. A fact that led to his answering after a few more tense moments.

"Very well, we will set out tomorrow at the latest," he grounded out harshly, turning his eyes away as both Gandalf and Dís' faces alighted at the news. How he hoped he wouldn't regret this.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we peek in on Bilbo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really want to thank Franzbrotchen for Beta'ing this for me. She really picked up on a lot of mistakes I made and helped make it a tighter narrative. :3
> 
> Words can also not even begin to describe how humbled I am that so many people seem to like this story thus far. I can only hope that it will continue to hold your interest in the future.
> 
> I ended up moving the timeline ahead by four years, simply because I failed to realize when Belladonna died in canon when I posted the date on the first chapter. Rather than do a disservice to Bilbo's inestimable mother by potentially writing her improperly, I simply tried to skirt the issue. Call it cowardly, it totally is, but I feel better for it.
> 
> For now we have character introductions to get through. We'll also get back to Thorin and the summit in the next chapter. I'm not exactly happy with this chapter, as it feels like I ground the story to a screeching halt in favor of introducing characters and establishing relationships. Yet at the same time it felt needed - particularly since we haven't gotten to the real 'meat' yet. Tell me what you think.

It was an uncommonly warm fall day at the new Brandybuck residence, the last vestiges of summer clinging to the air as colder winds slowly crept through the Shire. The green grass and leaves of Hobbiton was giving way to a palette of reds and oranges in the wake of the chill. One could even make out the definition of their breath. A terrible day for a move, or just the right kind depending upon your point of view. Autumn had often been associated with change, and as a wise scion of the Boffin family had once stated it was naturally the most acceptable time for moving. Not too close to the heat and merrymaking of summer, yet avoiding the bitter cold of winter.

Swathed in his beloved maroon jacket, with longer than usual trousers to keep his ankles warm, Bilbo Baggins couldn't help but find himself in the former category. Still, it was not his place to object, and already he had been working for hours at his appointed task of moving parcels from a nearby wagon into the newly renovated hobbit hole, or smial, just yards from the main road. While Mirabella and her considerable brood could potentially handle the move on their own, it simply wouldn't have been proper for blooded kin to leave them in a lurch.

Bilbo stretched his arms above his head with a groan, which only deepened as the inevitable popping sound of his vertebrae realigning met his ears. A stout wooden box resting at his feet, momentarily forgotten. Hours of excessive use had caused most of his muscles to stiffen in protest, and he knew that he'd be feeling the effects of this little operation well into the week. All around him various insects and animals belted out their Autumn songs, in a cacophony of noise that nearly sent the gentle Hobbit bolting for his dearly beloved hole in the ground. Why, he bemoaned slightly, had he gotten up before dawn to become a glorified pack mule again? 

"Billy! Cous'n Billy, you alright?" a small hand tugged gently at the sleeve of his coat. 

Willing the remaining pain to dispel from his face, Bilbo turned his head down with a warm smile. There was his reason, right there. With a sudden motion he swept down to pick the smaller body up, grinning widely to mask the slight wince of pain. A shriek of laughter was rewarded to him for the action. His charge was getting too big for this it seemed.

"I'm quite fine little Prim," he tapped the little dark-haired Hobbit lass firmly on the nose, "your old cousin is just feeling his age is all."

Primula scrunched her nose up until it caused wrinkles to echo across the rest of her face. Her eyes squinted at the older Hobbit in a calculating fashion that only a child could pull off with ease. "You're not old cous'n." At this she tilted he head to the side, as if doing so would unlock some grand mystery that was right before her eyes. "You're hardly older than Rori."

"Your eldest brother and I are only twelve years apart Prim, and last I checked a certain little lass had unequivocally declared him to be an.. Oh what was the phrase? Old curpin?"

Tilting away as far as her cousin's arms would allow, the young lass crossed her own imperiously, "well he is! He always scolding us and agreeing with the adults!"

"Surely that's no reason to call him that, is it?" He asked to, as she continued on as if she hadn't even heard him.

"And he wouldn't stop going on and on about his birthday this year!"

"I'd imagine you would be crowing as well if it was you reaching your Age of Majority," Bilbo responded wryly as he hefted himself into a sitting position on top of the forgotten box, all in an attempt to ease the burden on his arms. A few more years and he wouldn't be able to manage this anymore.

"But it's not fair!" She screwed her eyes together and leaned heavily against Bilbo, hiding her face in the mop of curls above his right ear. The route of her criticisms now becoming quite apparent, as she allowed her mood to swing towards darker waters. "He gets to be with Papa... Why can't we..?" 

Her arms locked around his neck soundly then, seeking comfort. 

Bilbo felt, more than heard, the sniffle that shock her body then. Her earlier good mood now long forgotten, as she stood on the precipice of tears. He should have expected this, really, but for all his respectability as a Hobbit he had never been particularly good at dealing with other people.

He knew she was homesick, even after only just arriving in Hobbiton a few days prior. While for him visiting with the few cousins he could stand to be around was a considerable bonus, he had to expect that not everyone had made the journey willingly. Or that every member of the family had made the move in the first place, for that matter. Hobbits were usually social creatures, himself being a queer exception to that with the exception to immediate family members, and at such a tender age the loss of a stable figure in their lives could be almost traumatic.

"Oh Prim, you know it wasn't like that," he rubbed her back in soothing little circles. "Your fathers just wants you to be safe, is all." And indeed, that had been precisely the reason why Gorbadoc Brandybuck, Master of Buckland, had sent the majority of his family to relocate in Hobbiton. Only his heir, Rorimac, had been allowed to stay behind with his father. Even then, it had only been on account of his Age of Majority taking place a few scant months before. His son was officially an adult in the eyes of the Shire folk now, and even Gorbadoc knew that there was little he could do now to prevent the lad from staying behind in Bucklebury if that's what his heart was set on. 

Over the past few months, Hobbits of all social standings and gender had been going missing with hardly a clue as to why. A good number of the kidnappings that happened within the Shire, for they never found anything that would suggest an outright murder, had taken place in the South and Eastfarthings. Buckland on the eastern shores of the Brandywine, while not technically Shire land, had seen the brunt of the kidnappings however. So much to the point where many of it's inhabitants had taken to moving westward to both the North and Westfarthings, in an attempt to spare their families the same fate. Few went out into the realms of Men, or even to the small settlement of Hobbits within Bree. Mutual doses of fear of the unknown and rumors that the inhabitants of Bree-land, both Men and Hobbit, were facing the same circumstances kept them from venturing across the Brandywine Bridge.

Inside and along the borders of the Shire, whispers had begun to mention the possibility of another Fell Winter in the making - if things continued on their current path. A fact that was quickly hushed whenever heard, as if the mere invocation would bring it to fruition. 

Still, such thoughts were best left for another time, as he tried to coax Primula through her sniffling. "Come now, dry those tears. There's a good lass." Bilbo grinned down at his red faced cousin, who was now stubbornly wiping her tears away even as a few hiccups escaped her tiny mouth.

"Your father and brother are doing their best to ensure your safety back in Buckland. Instead of worrying about not being able to be with them, why not do your best to be happy here so that they won't have more reason to worry?"

"So if I don't cry anymore, we'll go back?"

Bilbo winced, "I didn't say that. However, just think of how happy your father will be if he knows you've settled in well here! The best present you could give him is a happy smile upon your return to Brandy Hall." 

A ponderous look crossed her face as she considered his words, the red flush upon her cheeks from the tears now slowly receding.

"Besides I'm selfish." Bilbo declared, borrowing from a phrase that his mother had often used whenever his father had gone abroad for business, "in the mean time I get you all to myself." At this he playfully reached up and messed the mop of dark curls upon her head, all the while smirking at the gales of laughter it elicited. 

"Cous'n Billy! Knock it off," she shrieked with laughter, tiny hands pushing against his larger ones in an attempt to prevent her hair from being further messed. Her earlier upset mood receding quickly.

"Oh? And what does your cousin need to stop doing?" An amused voice called out from around the corner of the house.

"Mama!" Primula giggled before wriggling her way out of Bilbo's arms, making a beeline for her mother's skirts as soon as Mirabella rounded the corner. Hiding behind them playfully once the distance was breeched. "He mussed my hair!"

Mirabella Brandybuck, formally Took, was a bit on the short side for a fully grown hobbit. A fact that was only emphasized by her enlarged girth, which was the envy of many a Hobbit throughout the Shire. Further sporting deep green eyes and wheat colored blonde hair that was liberally peppered with streaks of grey in her advancing age. It was hard not to see why she had once been one of the highly sought daughters of the inestimable Old Took. 

Sparing a brief glance at her giggling daughter, eyes landing on her still drying eyes, she turned to her nephew with an exaggerated huff. "Did he now? Well we all know the punishment for such a grave insult, don't we Sweet Pea?"

"Yep!"

"Now wait a minute, Aunt Mirabella..." Bilbo began.

"I'd say being forced to stay for afternoon tea would be a suitable punishment, wouldn't you?" 

Primula nodded so quickly it almost looked as if her head was about to fling off, her body a flurry of movement over the idea that her Cousin would be staying for tea.

"What say you, brigand?" Mirabella winked then at Bilbo as she placed one of her rotund hands upon Primula's head. "Shall you serve your sentence willingly, or shall we call the boys over here to tie you up?"

For once his Baggins and Took side were in agreement, though oddly for different reasons. The former never being able to pass up a chance at afternoon tea, and the latter practically bouncing at the playful quips being sent his way. He nodded his defeat slightly, and gave an exaggerated bow - the Took side was feeling rather mischievous at that time.

"Good lad," Mirabella smirked before sending Primula off to help her older siblings and bring the news that 'Cous'n Billy' would be staying for tea.

Once the little girl was out of earshot, the older Hobbit turned to Bilbo with a grateful look, "I take it Primula broke down on you?"

Bilbo nodded slowly as he fiddled with the pipe enclosed in his coat pocket, which she took as a sign to continue, "thank you for trying to comfort her. She's taking this move far harder than the others, I'm afraid."

"Understandable, given her age."

"Yes, well," she sighed heavily and her entire round frame seemed to sink briefly, "hopefully she'll be able to settle in soon enough. Or, better yet, we'll be able to return home shortly."

At that a slightly uncomfortable silence settled around the pair, both absorbed in thoughts of the very real possibility that just such a thing might not be possible any time soon.

Mirabella had never been one to allow dark thoughts to linger, however, and soon Bilbo found himself being forcibly dragged straight into a standing position before he could even squawk out a protest.

"Come, I'm sure the boys have finished bringing some fire wood in from the wagon. Let me put on a kettle and you can rest before you return to Bag End for the evening. I won't allow any more talk of these foul matters for the duration of your visit!" With a motherly shove, she began herding him towards the entrance to the modest smial, barely blinking when he tried valiantly to enter on his own accord as was befitting of a respectable Hobbit.

It was hard not to see the resemblance between his mother and her sister in these instances, and it made Bilbo's heart ache ever so painfully at the thought. Bullheadedness was most definitely a Tookish trait that the sisters shared in common it seemed. Memories of when his own mother had directed him to whatever destination she had in mind in much the same manner, floated to the forefront of his mind before he forcibly stamped them down. It would do no one any good to bring up raw wounds now.

Afternoon tea passed rather comfortably after that, although it was rather crowded with eight people attempting to pile into a still unpacked kitchen that was barely bigger than his lobby back at Bag End. Yet it was heart warming for all that it was uncomfortable. Primula, eyes no longer red, sat comfortably on his lap while munching at a hard biscuit as her older brothers and sisters bantered across the room. The lack of table forced them to find whatever hard surface they could grapple some purchase with. Though that hardly seemed to faze most of the Brandbuck clan, with their mother's Tookish influence. Dinodas and Dodinas, the two youngest boys, in particular making a game of it.

Still, it was soon time to leave, as loathe as little Primula was to allow it. She leeched onto his legs, glaring defiantly up at him with her big sea green eyes. All the while the rest of her family watched in amusement at the entrance to their home, apparently having expected just such an action from their youngest member. "You're coming back, Cous'n? Promise!"

While the excitement of the day was more than Bilbo could usually stand, duty to one's family had been at the core of the lessons his parents had tried to impart him with as a small lad. Even had it not been, he was far too fond of them to stay away for long. Though maybe next time they could manage to avoid any heavy lifting...

"Course I am, little Prim. You can count on that." Bilbo ruffled her hair affectionately and let out a laugh as she instantly flung her hands upward to prevent it from being tangled any further. The action having freed his leg, he sent a quick wave of farewell to the rest of the Brandybucks before making a bee-line for Bag End. Vaguely catching onto Primula yelling after him about keeping his word.

Tea had been quite satisfying, if a little more sparse than he was used too, but a Baggins never missed such an important occasion as dinner if they could help it. Hopefully the trout he had bought at market yesterday was still fresh enough to be eaten, though he doubted the twenty minute walk between destinations would make much difference in those regards.

He took the main road through Hobbiton, knowing that it wouldn't be proper to gallivant across fields and fences simply to ensure that dinner was presented on schedule. On the way passing by Old Holman and his young protégé Hamfast Gamgee as the lad attempted to coax his relative into explaining the finer points of gardening. Barely out of swaddling and the lad was already a flutter over a potential profession. It probably wouldn't be very many decades before young Hamfast took over his garden, if his interest wasn't captured by some other profession in the mean time.

Sending the pair a wave, which was briefly returned before their lessons resumed, Bilbo continued down the road for a good while with few interruptions. Aside from a less than dignified attempt to avoid catching the eye of one Berilac Sandybanks, one of the local Bounders who was looking for fresh recruits in the wake of kidnappings. 

It wasn't that Bilbo didn't want to help protect the Shire, far from it. However the Baggins family tended to historically be far better thinkers than doers, and he simply couldn't see himself trudging through the wilds on a mad hunt for the mythical culprits when his skills would be better put to use going over ledgers and books. At least when one was pouring over books and documents they could keep to a proper meal schedule!

Berilac, who was a rather intense fellow at the best of times, seemed unsatisfied with this answer the first time it had been presented. To him there was no one better suited than a Took for this sort of job, the other side of Bilbo's lineage never once entering his mind. Besides, he would counter, hadn't Bilbo often paraded through those very hills and marshes as a child? The fact that he was no longer an impressionable youth, chasing after elvish flights of fancy didn't seem to register with the older Hobbit. 

Eventually Bilbo had given up on trying to ward off the other's attempts to catch his attention, preferring avoidance to anymore circular discussions. Which was why he was currently zeroed in on the dirt pathway as if it was the most interesting thing he had ever come across. With any luck Berilac would fail to look away from his conversation with one of the Proudfoots, and he'd make it home in time for a proper dinner.

'Just keep focused on the road ahead, just keep focused on the road ahead....'

'Just...'

"Did you lose a boot buckle?"

"How could he lose a boot buckle, Kíli, when he has no boots in the first place?" 

Looking up sharply, ears burning red in mortification for the very non-Baggins like behavior he had been exhibiting, he found his vision filled by two dwarves. For what else could they be? Hobbits never grew beards, nor allow stubble to cloud their faces, it simply wasn't done. Though that hadn't stopped the more adventurous prone from trying, to results that would make any real dwarf peel over in gut busting laughter.

But what were dwarves doing in the Shire of all places? There was nothing a dwarf might find of value here, as far as he was aware. They could be a part of a caravan, but Bilbo was sure he'd have heard if one was near Hobbiton. 

Currently the taller, brunet one was leaning forward quizzically, unaware of the questions floating around in the Hobbit's mind, while the blond was leaning against a nearby fence post in a blasé fashion - a pair of packs laying neglected at his feet. They seem quite unconcerned with the potential stir their presence would cause, particularly in the current tense climate.

"Maybe he has boots at home that he wears on special occasions?" The one called Kíli turned to his comrade with a bright expression.

"Um, excuse me..."

He was promptly ignored as the blond gave his reply. "If that was the case why would he be searching for a buckle out in the middle of the road like this? That makes no sense."

Kíli bristled childishly, "it could! Maybe he wore them yesterday and lost the buckle then, but didn't have time to search for it until now!"

The other dwarf just shrugged off the outburst, "but didn't Balin say that halflings never wore shoes to begin with? Something about their feet being hard enough to get away without being covered up at all times..."

"I'm dreadfully sorry but...." Bilbo began.

The two continued to banter back and forth, utterly unconcerned that they were now ignoring the subject that had sparked the debate in the first place. There was no malice behind their rebuttals, and Bilbo would have almost been convinced that they were doing it purely to pass the time - except no civilized person would argue simply for the sake of arguing. Would they?

Then again he knew nothing about dwarves, though his current impression was falling with every second that passed.

"Excuse me!"

Without missing a beat, two voices beat back a jovial "you're excused", before swiftly going back to their current discussion - which had somehow ended up on the merits of buckles versus laces on every day shoe-wear.

Huffing in irritation Bilbo allowed himself to stew for a few moments before he gave up entirely on getting their attention. If they wanted to argue like children in the middle of the road then that was their business, thank you very much. Might as well pick his way around them and leave them to their business. At worst a Bounder might happen by and bring them in for questioning, which would serve the two right in his opinion.

He's barely made it around them when two sets of hands latched upon his arms in gentle but firm grips. Bilbo struggled mightily for a few moments, before it became obvious that he was getting no where fast. Once that was apparent, he settled on turning to glare over his shoulder in a most un-Hobbit like fashion. His wish to get home overriding his manners.

"Now now, no need to run off like that, Mr...?" The blond started off.

"Baggins..." 

"Mr. Boggins!" Kíli grinned, missing Bilbo's wince. "We're terribly sorry. But we were wondering if you could direct us to some place named..."He thought for a moment before yelling into Bilbo's ear, "Oi! Fíli! What was that town named again?"

"There's no need to yell, I'm right here..." Fíli grumbled good-naturedly, "Uncle called it Tuck-something..."

"Tuckborough?" Maybe if Bilbo hurried this along he might make it out of this with his ear drums in tact.

"That's it!" the taller one grinned. "Where is it? Which road do we have to take?" He was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in equal parts excitement and agitation. 

Seeing the display was at once smile inducing, and off putting. Why would anyone be so excited to go there? Unless... "And why would you need to go to Tuckborough?" Bilbo tried to keep his tone as neutral as possible, cursing himself for putting his dinner before the potential safety of the Shire. For all he knew these two dwarves had something to do with the recent rash of kidnappings!

Where was Berilac? If push came to shove, Bilbo wasn't sure if he could manage to hold the clearly stronger pair at bay before the local Bounders could attempt to restrain them. Yet he had to try, if that's what it came down to. If he could just stall them long enough...

His act did nothing to fool the blond, however, who cast an appreciative eye on him that made Bilbo feel as if his worth was being weighed and valued in front of his very eyes. Several tense moments passed as they eyed one another, before the dwarf seemed to come to some sort of judgment. Slipping away from the Hobbit who was still being held in a vice grip by his taller comrade he walked over to their forgotten packs and began to rummage through them. Every once in awhile he'd pull out various trinkets and other things of varying value.

Eventually it seemed he found what he was looking for, a stone carving of some sort. Returning to the pair he presented it for Bilbo's inspection, lifting it ever so slightly so that the bottom was also visible. In his hands sat an elaborate limestone chop, polished until it practically shone in the waning sunlight, the figures of various swords carved into it's sides. Yet that wasn't important, what was however was the swirling 'T' on the bottom that marked it as property of the illustrious Took family. 

Chops, or seals as the Men might call them, were often used for various functions in Hobbit society. They could be used in place of a signature, to prove one's lineage and status, and even to provide safe passage through the Shire for outsiders. This chop, as he recognized it and it's brethren from his visitations with his Took relatives, was of the latter variety. Given only to those who could be trusted to have the ear of the Thain himself. Yet why would two dwarves have such a thing? Could it be that they stole it? No, the average outsider wouldn't have presented it for his inspection if they had - as the value would have been lost on a would be robber. 

That left one larger possibility, that they really did have legitimate business within Tuckborough. That fact caused his body to slacken ever so slightly in relief.

"Hm, what do you know, these things really do work." Fíli turned the chop in his hands before depositing it in a coat pocket for safe keeping, "I take it that this clears things up then?" 

Bilbo nodded exhaustedly, "yes, I apologize for my behavior...."

"Nonsense, Mr. Boggins!" Kíli removed his hands from Bilbo's arm only to sling one around his neck, "caution is well warranted in this day and age - or so our Uncle is fond of saying. Though if you want I won't say no to being fed as an apology."

"Not now brother, we have to get to our destination soon or else uncle will be angry - and mother will likely be not very far behind if she finds out we were late once word heads back to her in the Blue Mountains." Both brothers let out a comical shudder at that, and Bilbo wondered after the nature of their family. Surely they couldn't be that bad?

"Regardless, the destination, if you would please Master Hobbit?"

"Yes, well, it's simple really. Just take the road south past Bywater, and take the East Road east until you reach a right fork past Whitfurrows. From there head west once you reach Stock, and follow the road all the way down to Tuckborough."

"Really? Isn't there a shorter way?" Kíli let out a slight whine that was shortly silenced by a whap from his brother.

"Well, I guess you could forego the East Road entirely and cut across the hills until reach the road to Tuckborough, but that seems like..." Really, who would want to trek through the hills when there were perfectly good roads available?

Apparently these two, for they practically jumped on the chance of using a short cut. It was not long before they were off, the brunet shouting after 'Mr. Boggins' about saving a meal for them if they ever came back this way. He was left waving after them awkwardly as they turned around a bend in one of the many hills that made up the quaint village of Hobbiton, before he too moved on.

It was already well past six when he arrived back at Bag End, though it felt much later, and he lamented that this would be the first time in a long time that he would miss out on a prompt dinner. Why it was almost time for the evening meal! Heaving a sigh as he hung up his coat before digging into the pockets to retrieve his pipe for a short smoke before dinner, Bilbo hoped that tomorrow wouldn't be nearly as exciting as today had been. He didn't think his heart could take any more excitement, Took lineage or no.

It was with that thought that he settled into the coziest arm chair in his lounge, puffing away at the Old Toby in his pipe in the hopes that it would provide some comfort. With each drag of the pipe he slowly allowed himself to dream that that would be the last time he ever saw the dwarves, or any talk of kidnappings, and turned his mind towards pleasanter subjects. Never once remembering the often said phrase about life and it's penchant for throwing curves in your pathway when you least expect it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In regards to Primula, I'm going with the interpretation that Hobbit's age slower than Men in this story. So rather than write her as a teenager, she would be fifteen in 2935, I'm going to write her as if she was a bit over half that age. Probably a really bad idea on my part, but we'll see how it goes. For those of you who are wondering where Drogo is, never fear. He'll show up eventually when he's good and ready. As will several other staples of the Shire.
> 
> Anyways, I hope you liked it. I have the next chapter planned already, and a few more things will be explained there. Such as why the Rangers aren't solely handling the issue, when historically they've been valiant protectors of the Shire folk.


End file.
